


Nightmares Full of Fire

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Jonmund Week 2020 [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jonmund Week 2020, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, not Daenerys friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Nightmares are to be expected after seeing a city turn to ash around you, Jon knows that, although it does not make them easier. Waking in Tormund's arms does though.Written for Day 4 of Jonmund Week 2020: Vulnerability
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Jonmund Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673965
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	Nightmares Full of Fire

Jon woke up with a gasp, his heart pounding terribly and every muscle as tense as they were in the midst of a battle. He did not see his surroundings, merely the terrible green and yellow of flames, and the eyes of those he had failed to save as the dragon had zig-zagged over the city.

As the images faded, and his heart started to calm, Jon became aware of an arm wrapped around his waist, and a soothing hand rubbing circles on his hip.

“What was it about this time?” Tormund asked, his voice as gentle as the hand still rubbing circles upon Jon’s hip.

“The fires. The dragon. Kings Landing.” Jon choked out, “A woman who I saved from my own soldiers, burning in front of me.”

He twisted so he was facing Tormund, facing the weathered face of the man he loved. It was a face that inspired fear into the hearts of his enemies, and yet one so full of love as Tormund looked back at Jon that it was difficult to picture such a thing.

Tormund’s arm shifted from its position at Jon’s waist, up to his shoulders, pulling him so he was cradled against his chest.

“Nightmares are our lot in life, Little Crow.” Tormund said softly, “The lot of any man, or indeed woman, who has seen such things as you. What we must do instead, is focus on the good.”

Jon listened to the beat of Tormund’s heart, and concentrated on the steady rise and fall of his chest so as to calm himself enough so that he might speak without the pain he felt breaking through his voice.

“But what good is there?” He whispered, scarcely louder than the rustle of a leaf on the breeze. “What good is there, when a city turned to ash before my eyes, when I helped the woman who burned half a million people?”

Tormund was quiet for long enough that the panic began to rise in Jon’s chest again, the fear that by voicing such thoughts he had finally driven away the man who had stuck by his side for so long. The man who he had loved for so long.

“You look to the little things.” Tormund eventually said heavily, “Look for the flowers blooming in the ground, the smile on a baby’s face. You look for the people helping those who are struggling, whether it be because they are old, or young, or unwell. You look for the sunlight dancing through the leaves, and the way your ruddy great wolf’s tail wags so fast it might take flight whenever he sees you. You look to the little things, my love, for without them we are all lost.”

His words were said slowly, with wisdom of great experience, both personal and passed down, behind every single one. 

“And of course, my cock is one of the good ones. Although I do not think we can call that little.” Tormund ruined the solemnity of the moment with his gleeful tone, and Jon could picture the way he was waggling his eyebrows to emphasise his point.

He could not help the burst of laughter that broke free of his chest, nor the sobs it devolved into. Great, heaving sobs which shook his whole body even as tears streamed down his face.

Tormund did not speak as Jon sobbed, did not offer meaningless platitudes. He merely held Jon tighter than before, so that he was securely cradled in his arms and pressed against Tormund’s chest, cocooning him in a feeling of warmth and safety.

He held him, even as Jon’s sobs died out and he fell back into an exhausted sleep, and held him until the sun was high in the sky and Jon awoke, safe and warm and feeling so very loved, his nightmare all but forgotten. 


End file.
